


Touch

by REwrites



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blackcest, M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-24
Updated: 2013-02-24
Packaged: 2017-12-03 12:58:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/698488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/REwrites/pseuds/REwrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Touch is the only thing he seems to know right now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Touch

_Please._

Regulus's hands beg as his arms wind themselves like snakes around Sirius's waist, fingertips pressing urgently against smooth skin, desperate to convey what he is suddenly having so much trouble putting into words. Touch is the only thing he seems to know right now; his voice has forgotten how to work. Perhaps Sirius has packed it away in his trunk with the rest of his belongings? No matter. Touch will have to be enough.

He leans against his brother, sharp angles locking together like pieces to a puzzle as their bodies touch. He kisses Sirius, first on the underside of his jaw, his lips swelling as they scrape against a full day's worth of stubble, and then on his lips, claiming them with a gentle flick of his tongue. A needy sort of moan escapes him when Sirius returns the kiss, equally frantic, until Regulus thinks his heart may beat out of his chest. Their lips locked, Regulus pleads wordlessly.

_Please, don't._

The bed groans beneath their weight. Sirius is hot and slick and perfect, eyes shining brightly, skin silky and soft. Regulus wants all of him. Wants to own him, lock him away forever where no one but Regulus can have him, but he knows, as Sirius pushes into him, gasping his name with heated breath against his neck, that  _he_  is the one who is owned. So he presses back, offering himself up in supplication, each kiss, each touch burning the message into Sirius's skin.

_Please don't leave me._

The next morning Sirius is gone. A dull, acrid stench lingers in the air of the drawing room where his mother sits, weeping into her handkerchief, her wand clutched tight enough to break in her hand. Over her shoulder Regulus can see a small black ring on the tapestry next to where he knows his name to be, still smoldering, and he wonders, too late, what might have happened if he had actually asked Sirius to stay.


End file.
